


Incendiary

by A_Lindon



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crime Fighting, Eventual Romance, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2791061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Lindon/pseuds/A_Lindon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accepting a paid internship at the Wayne Charitable Foundation Julia Remarque returns to Gotham. While trying to rout out corruption at the foundation, Julia attempts to mend a broken relationship with her father, Alfred Pennyworth, even as she falls in love with a man to whom her father objects. Harvey Dent's own rising star and the darkness within threaten to swallow them whole against the backdrop of a city drowning in depravity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> In DC Comics, Julia Remarque is Alfred Pennyworth's daughter with a Frenchwoman named Mademoiselle Marie. I'm not following any storyline of the comics and I intend to interweave Julia into the Gotham storyline.
> 
> This story was up under the name Passion at ff.net and removed. It will not be reposted on the other site.

_Ten years prior to the Thomas and Martha Wayne murders…_

_Montreal, Canada_

\--*--

The night Marie died the air was laced with the scent of gardenias mixed with powdered sugar and smoke; an unusual combination and one that will forever be entangled with her death in Claudette Chaubert’s mind. Marie survived so much in her life: the murder of her family in Algiers when she was a child, intelligence work for the French Foreign Ministry, being shot in the back by a KGB agent. She not only survived, but she thrived.

Marie Remarque was the happiest, most self-adjusted person Claudette ever knew.

Marie loved life and she was filled with joy. People responded by embracing her with open arms. When she felt France was filled with too many bad memories, Marie moved to Montreal. She brought her small daughter, Julia, who was only five and Claudette fell in love. The child was as quiet as Marie was effusive.

Claudette was a widow living on her late husband’s pension in a two story townhouse in the old quarter of the city when she first met Marie. She advertised for a long time to find tenants for her first floor flat; turning away all those who struck her as mired in moral turpitude or possessed bad credit. At the age of sixty, Claudette didn’t want to deal with bad lodgers.

Over the years, Claudette had grown to adore not just Marie, but most especially Julia. With her dark hair and deep blue eyes the girl reminded Claudette of a particularly fine porcelain doll. Julia had few friends her own age and seemed to cling to the adults around her like a drowning person to a life raft.

_When Julia was just eleven she returned from school with a black eye and split lip. Claudette had been shocked to see the child’s state. “L’agneau, comment allez-vous? “ ‘Lamb, how are you?’_

_With large, solemn eyes Julia replied, “Ça ne fait rien, Madame Chaubert.” ‘Never mind, Mrs. Chaubert.’_

_“Ridiculous,” Claudette hissed. “Tell me what happened or I will call your mother at work.”_

_Julia lingered on the stoop for a moment; her fingers busily caressing silken red petals of the geraniums occupying the planters. “They called me a bastard because I don’t have a father. One of the girls said my mother is a whore.”_

_“Calumny!” Claudette shouted. “Your father is dead.”_

_The girl stared at her with a gaze so serious it belonged to one three times her age. “No, Madame Chaubert, my father is alive. He lives in the United States. Mama has letters d’amour from him in her lingerie drawer.”_

_Claudette sighed. “Spying, l’agneau, is beneath you. Go inside and I will come in to clean your face.”_

“Claudette,” a hoarse voice interrupted her memories. “Will you contact Julia’s father? He deserves to know he has a daughter.”

She turned toward the woman in the bed. “Marie, perhaps he may not wish to come. What should I do if he refuses?”

The once beautiful woman was a hollow shell of her former glory. So thin she looked anorexic with parchment thin skin and vast amounts of white coming into her auburn hair, Marie Remarque resembled a living corpse. Green eyes peered out from deeply shadowed eyes. 

She licked her dry lips. “He will come. Alfred Pennyworth is the most responsible man I’ve ever known.”

“I will call Monsieur Pennyworth,” Claudette promised.

Marie gave a nod as her eyes fell closed. “Call him now, Claudette. I wish to sleep, I’m very tired.”

Tears pricked Claudette’s eyes. Cancer destroyed Marie Remarque’s body; ravaging her until she was little more than skin and bones. At the young age of fifty Marie was dying. Instead of remaining in her snug little flat, Marie was forced into a hospice. The demands on visiting nurses were too much and the level of care required keeping Marie comfortable exceeded home care. 

St. Germaine Hospice was located on a small residential street filled with gracious old homes and a patisserie. Marie’s room was filled with comfortable, lavish furnishings and several bouquets of gardenias. Earlier Claudette opened the window per Marie’s request to let in the cool night air.

The scent of bonfire smoke mingled with the sweetness reminiscent of confectioner’s sugar and the intoxicating floral perfume of gardenias.

“Shall I send in Julia?”

“No,” Marie released with a sigh. “I want you to take her home. She needs to sleep.”

Claudette left the room; shutting the door behind her. In the solarium just down the hall, Julia was curled up in an old armchair with her chin resting on her knees. The shadows beneath her eyes were as dark as Marie’s. Assured the young woman would not wake, Claudette approached the nurse’s station.

“I need to make an emergency long distance call for Marie Remarque.”

All members of the staff were aware of Marie’s dire health. Claudette was ushered into a small office and left alone at a small desk with a phone. She clawed through her pocket for the slip of paper Marie had given her two weeks prior. 

The phone number where Alfred Pennyworth could be reached stared Claudette in the face.

Taking a deep breath, Claudette dialed.

Three precise rings later a strong, clipped British accent was in her ear. “You have reached the residence of Thomas and Martha Wayne. How might I help you?”

Claudette forced words from between her cold lips. “Bonsoir Monsieur, I apologize for calling so late in the evening. My name is Claudette Chaubert and I wish to speak with Alfred Pennyworth.”

A few seconds clicked by before there was any reply. “Madame,” the British gentleman replied. “I am Alfred Pennyworth. How might I assist you?”

“This is how you say… awkward,” Claudette began. “I am a friend of Marie Remarque. She requested I call you in regards to a very important matter.”

“Oh?” Alfred replied in a taut voice smacking of displeasure. “I haven’t heard from Mademoiselle Remarque in nearly sixteen years. Please excuse my disbelief, but I find it hard to believe she suddenly wants to catch up on old times.”

Claudette realized beating around the bush would only anger the man further. “Marie is going to die, Monsieur Pennyworth… soon I fear. She has stage four ovarian cancer. I realize this is horrible coming from a stranger. Je suis désolé. Marie wants you to come to Montreal at your earliest convenience and collect your daughter.”

The line was so quiet; Claudette was convinced for a moment that the man had simply hung up.

Suddenly he cleared his throat and she jumped; nearly dumping herself onto the floor. “Madame Chaubert, how did you get this phone number?”

“Marie gave it to me. I have no idea how she obtained the number.”

He released a long, slow sigh that spoke more eloquently of fatigue and grief than any words could express. “She certainly always had the knack for retrieving confidential information. I must make arrangements with my employers to take a holiday, but I will fly out as soon as possible. Please give me your information.”

Claudette gave Monsieur Pennyworth the address to her flat before hanging up. She didn’t linger in the office and headed straight back to Marie’s room. The scents which were so evocative of life wafted around a room now filled with death.

Marie Remarque lay in her bed, green eyes wide and staring at the ceiling, with a nurse beside her. The young woman shook her head and pulled a sheet over Marie’s face. She passed Claudette and squeezed her arm gently. “Mademoiselle Remarque’s daughter is still asleep in the solarium.”

Claudette crossed herself and murmured a prayer beneath her breath.

\--*--

Alfred Pennyworth arrived the morning after Marie’s funeral. Julia was somber-faced as she stared out Claudette’s kitchen window; the view of naught but the brick wall of an apartment building. The girl had said only a handful of words since her mother’s death three days earlier. Dry-eyed but teeming with despair, Julia divided the hours between lingering abed, reading Jane Eyre, or staring out the damned kitchen window.

Claudette was at her wits end. 

The chime of the doorbell was a welcome distraction from the girl’s overwhelming grief. Walking to the door, she rubbed her palms along the starched material of her skirt. Summoning her strength, Claudette opened the door.

“Bonjour,” she managed in a calm voice.

The man on the threshold of her flat was distinguished, perhaps forty, with handsome features and no expression whatsoever. Deep blue eyes, Julia’s eyes, measured Claudette with care. He was dressed in a tailored dark grey suit and black overcoat that left no doubt he had some wealth. His face was filled with character and hardness in equal measure; his dark brown hair peppered with silver around his sideburns.

“Bonjour,” he replied in flawless French; just a hint of his British accent bleeding through. “Je m’appelle Alfred Pennyworth. Je cherche Madame Chaubert.” _'My name is Alfred Pennyworth. I’m looking for Mrs. Chaubert.'_

Claudette nodded. “Oui, Monsieur Pennyworth. Je suis Madame Chaubert. Come in please.”

His expression changed for just a moment and he appeared reluctant. Mr. Pennyworth finally stepped into the foyer and she closed the door. He waited a moment before speaking. “I was unaware previous to your call that I had a child. Marie never told me.”

Claudette sighed and handed him a sealed letter Marie had passed into her protection. “Please have a seat,” she showed him into her small parlor and indicated he sit in the largest chair by the window. “I will prepare tea while you read, Monsieur Pennyworth.”

The man nodded; his eyes shuttered against emotion as he sank into the offered chair. 

Claudette bustled in the tiny, closed off kitchen. Her hands busily making the tea and preparing a slice of raspberry tart for her guest. Julia remained silent and finally turned her face to Claudette. “The man in the other room is… him.”

“Oui, Monsieur Pennyworth is your father, Julia.” Claudette spared a look at the girl; regretting the fact she allowed Julia to dress like a pauper. “A proper sort of British gentleman, Monsieur Pennyworth is. I wish you would have picked more appropriate clothing.”

“Why?” Julia snorted. “He is just a man. I don’t care if he thinks I am the biggest slacker he has ever met.”

Claudette sighed and eyed the girl. Julia was wearing old, dark sweatpants and a tee-shirt with Place des Arts emblazoned across the front. Picking up the tray she had prepared, Claudette picked her way past Julia. “You shouldn’t start off on the wrong foot with your father.”

“He’s not my father,” Julia stated coolly. “The man is simply a sperm donor.”

Claudette refused to engage Julia in a verbal sparring match. Instead, she returned to the parlor and her guest. She noticed at once that Monsieur Pennyworth was ashen; his gaze intent on the thick packet of papers in his hand.

“Are you well, Monsieur?”

Alfred Pennyworth looked up and began folding the papers. He shoved them into an interior pocket of his overcoat. “Fine,” he returned politely. “I must admit this has all been a rather large shock. Marie left me all of the legal paperwork for our daughter. I was named on the birth certificate and she instructed her attorney to have sole custody of the girl transferred to me upon her death.”

Claudette offered him milk and he nodded. She added a splash to his tea cup before handing it off to him. “I am not surprised. Will you move to Montreal and allow the girl to finish her schooling?”

He sipped his tea and gazed at her steadily for a moment. “I am a butler to Thomas and Martha Wayne in Gotham. My job has myriad responsibilities and the Wayne’s have treated me as a member of their family. Leaving their employ is not an option. I will bring Julia back to Gotham with me.”

Claudette felt her heart clench. “I see.”

“There are several wonderful private schools in the city,” he continued. “I want Julia to receive a top notch education. I promise you the girl won’t want for anything.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Claudette sighed. “Julia Francoise Remarque! Shame on you for such uncouth behavior! I will not tolerate such rudeness. Come and apologize to Monsieur Pennyworth.”

Julia stood in the doorway; arms folded over her chest and defiance burning brightly in the depths of her eyes. She slowly toddled into the room until she was only a few feet away from the man she stared at. “I apologize, Monsieur Pennyworth. I’m still not leaving.”

He slowly set down his teacup on the coffee table. “With all due respect,” he stood slowly. “You are my daughter and you belong with me. I have a duty to raise you to the best of my ability and I intend to do just that. Your mother left you in my custody, Julia.”

“I demand a paternity test!” Julia retorted. “Mama probably made a mistake.”

Alfred Pennyworth’s eyes flared and he leaned down until he and the girl were nearly nose to nose. “Listen here, missy. There has been no mistake – you look exactly like my Aunt Daphne. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. I leave the choice in your hands, but in either case we will be leaving for Gotham tomorrow afternoon and you will be on the flight with me.”

Julia just stared at him.

Claudette felt a little ill; she hated scenes.

\--*--

The following afternoon Claudette Chaubert accompanied Alfred Pennyworth and Julia Remarque to the airport. Julia was painfully silent; all dark looks shot at her father which boded ill indeed. Monsieur Pennyworth helped Julia pack two bags and left Claudette with a sizeable check and instructions for sending the remainder of Julia and Marie’s belongings to Gotham.

Julia ended up being led to the departure gate by the arm; Monsieur Pennyworth keeping a firm grasp on her bicep. She turned and sent one last pleading look at Claudette as her father herded her toward boarding. 

Claudette issued a small wave.

Julia’s face fell and she turned stiffly toward the ramp.

Claudette considered herself a decent judge of character and Alfred seemed a good, if staid and stern, sort of man. She murmured at least fifty ‘Ava Maria’ prayers on the cab ride home to her now empty flat. She hoped fervently Julia and Alfred would work out their differences.


	2. Returning

_Confine yourself to the present – Marcus Aurelius_

 

\--*--

The limo ride from the airport seemed to take an eternity.

Julia studied the text messages on her phone with apathy before shoving the phone back in her purse. Returning to Gotham wasn’t her idea, but Thomas and Martha Wayne were dead. In particular, Mrs. Wayne had been exceptionally kind to a frightened, angry fifteen year old girl that Alfred had brought home with him ten years earlier. Despite her busy schedule, Mrs. Wayne made time to take tea with Julia every afternoon at three o’clock on the dot. Cucumber sandwiches, scones, strawberry jam, and piping hot Earl Grey tea decorated a lovely tray delivered to her private study.

Crossing her legs, Julia stared out the window and fought the tears threatening to overwhelm her.

She had never been one to express her feelings. Mrs. Wayne had taken Julia to task for refusing to talk about failing to make the cheerleading squad at Carlisle Academy. In the scope of worldly problems it was relatively minor though still embarrassing. She had practiced her routine for three months straight prior to trying out. At sixteen, Julia was an outsider in Gotham society; her status exacerbated by her French Canadian accent and awkward, coltish body.

The failure to make the squad was a humiliation that cemented the fact Julia was not welcome in Gotham. The girls had laughed at her, poked fun of her accent. Luckily, she was spared the cruel bullying her classmates in Montreal had forced her to endure.

Mrs. Wayne had locked Julia in her study and plied her with Scottish shortbread and Japanese Cherry Blossom tea. Within fifteen minutes Julia had spilled her guts while Alfred had prodded her for two weeks without success about her mournful demeanor.

Julia still remembered Mrs. Wayne’s kind reply to Alfred’s disbelief Julia had confided in his employer. _‘You must remember, Alfred, that young ladies are reluctant to tell their troubles to their fathers. Most men haven’t had the same experiences teenage girls suffer. However, I believe if you fill Julia’s belly with enough Scottish shortbread, she will tell you whatever you wish to know. Julia has cleaned us out and Mrs. McAllister will need to fire up the oven.’_

Wayne Manor rose up majestically from the earth like a literal castle as the car approached the gates.

She quickly smoothed her hair and adjusted her jacket as the car pulled up the drive. The idea of her father seeing her dressed sloppily was one of Julia’s worst fears. Alfred Pennyworth had been a military man and he was neat as a pin; every inch of his person reflected dignity and precision. One of the first lessons Julia learned in coming to live with her father was that his high standards were to be taken up by her.

Alfred stood on the front steps; his hands behind his back. He had silver hair mixing in with the dark and more lines on his face, but he was still the same man she had last seen four years earlier. His dark suit was exquisitely tailored and without so much as a crease.

Julia sighed.

Her jacket was nothing but creases and wrinkles from her mad dash after Alfred called her with the news about the Wayne’s. She lived in London since graduating from university. Montreal had too many bad memories. Julia wanted a new life – new memories. She snagged a job working for _Chez Cadeau_ , one of the most progressive fashion houses in Europe.

No, she was not a designer… Julia was the Assistant Financial Officer.

Basically, Julia was a glorified accountant.

The car stopped and she allowed the driver to help her out.

Alfred was stiff as he watched her approach. “Julia.”

She had never been one to hug people; not since her mother’s death. “Alfred,” Julia replied quietly. “I am so sorry about Thomas and Martha. They were good people.” 

He had long ago lost the battle with Julia over preferring to be called _‘Father’_ or some derivative. Once Alfred had displayed his displeasure; he now grudgingly accepted her use of his given name. Nodding curtly, he seemed hewn from stone.

“Thank you,” Alfred replied. “I had one of the maids prepare a room for you…”

Julia held up her hand. “No, no thank you, Alfred. I made reservations at the Windsor Hotel. I expect to leave this weekend.”

Surprise flitted through his gaze. “So soon?” Alfred quickly collected himself and managed a tight smile. “As you wish, Julia, I shan’t keep you here too long today. I’m sure you must be suffering from jetlag. The car and driver are at your disposal until you leave. I can take Master Bruce wherever he wishes to go.”

She nodded and followed Alfred into the cold, quiet mansion. 

\--*--

“How is Bruce?” Julia asked softly as Alfred led her into a small parlor just off the kitchen; the room had been granted to the staff for their exclusive use. “He was so small the last time I saw him.”

Alfred was stiff in his comportment; a muscle in his jaw twitched. “How do you think the poor lad is faring, Julia?”

She sighed and walked to the window. “Please forgive my stupidity, Alfred.”

He sighed somewhere behind her. “I believe we need a spot of tea.”

The door closed and Julia was left alone. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked around the room; it had changed little in the four years since she had last seen it. Homey and comfortable, it lacked the sophisticated elegance of the other rooms in Wayne Manor.

She walked to a small wingback chair perched before the fireplace and sank down. Rubbing her forehead, Julia stared at the cold hearth. She wondered if it had been a good idea to return at all…

The door opened and pulled Julia from her maudlin thoughts.

“Alfred, I think this is a record for tea.”

“I’m not Alfred,” a young, clear male voice announced gravely.

Julia turned and found Bruce Wayne was standing not two full paces from her chair. She didn’t bother to offer him a smile or condolences. “Master Bruce, do you remember me?”

He gave her a solemn nod. The sheer sadness Julia saw in his eyes pained her deeply. Bruce may have been a young boy, but his expression and bearing were far more suited to a full grown man.

She tilted her head as she studied him. “Perhaps you would like to sit with me? S’il vous plait.”

Bruce stabbed his hands into his trouser pockets. “D’accord.” He walked to the chair beside her and sat gingerly on the edge of the cushion; hands still in his pockets.

Julia managed a smile. “You have been keeping up with your French. I am impressed, Master Bruce.”

“Please don’t call me Master.” Bruce looked away from her toward the fireplace. “I know Alfred feels like he needs to refer to me that way for propriety, but I feel silly when you do it, Julia.”

“Bruce,” Julia began. “You have certainly grown since the last time I saw you.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I know what you’re trying to do, Julia. You’re trying to cheer me up.”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “No… I remember the idiots who tried to make me feel better after my mother died. It didn’t work and it pissed me off. I’m just trying to make polite conversation with a boy I haven’t seen in a long time.”

Bruce’s expression softened as he turned to fully look at her. “Do you still miss her? After ten years?”

“Yes,” Julia answered honestly. “I miss my mother every day. Shall I tell you a secret?”

The boy leaned toward her and nodded eagerly.

She held his eyes. “It took a very long time, but the pain does start to go away. I can think of all the wonderful things we did together and not cry. One day, it will be the same for you.”

“Honestly?” Bruce demanded; tears shining in his eyes.

Julia smiled. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Tea for two…” Alfred announced before falling oddly silent.

She looked toward the door and felt a moment of pity for Alfred. He stood awkwardly inside the door with a massive tea service in his hands; the tray burdened with an enormous, opulent teapot and matching cups along with all manner of delights for a proper English tea.

“Come in, Alfred,” Bruce stood. “I was just leaving.” He looked in her direction. “Will I see you at dinner tonight?”

“I’m staying at a hotel, Bruce.”

The boy’s eyebrows rose as confusion swept over his face. “Why? You should stay here with us. Isn’t that right, Alfred?”

Alfred’s expression altered from unsure to vague amusement. “Absolutely, Master Bruce, I told Julia that earlier.”

Bruce turned an expectant gaze on Julia. “Well? You will be staying with us?”

“My reservation deposit…” she trailed off lamely as Alfred grinned.

“I am certain under the current circumstances that the hotel will be most understanding.” 

Bruce seemed lighter. “I’m glad you’re going to stay with us, Julia.” He nodded at Alfred on his way out of the room.

She waited until her father closed the door behind the boy. “Using the child in such a fiendish way is below you, Alfred.”

“Says the girl to the man who had cook prepare a whole slew of shortbread,” Alfred handed her a small dish stacked high with Scottish shortbread. “I seem to recall you had a hankering for the stuff.”

Julia’s mouth watered as the rich, sugary-butter scent drifted over her. “Bless your heart, Alfred Pennyworth. I cannot believe you remembered the shortbread.”

Alfred looked up from the teacup he was preparing. He wore a genuine smile. “I’ve never forgotten anything about you, Julia. Not one blessed thing.”

She fell silent and ruminated on Alfred’s words.

\--*--

Alfred had been correct – the mere mention of the Wayne name had her reservation deposit promptly refunded to her credit card. Julia found she was placed in a comfortable room in the servant’s wing of the house only three doors down from Alfred’s apartment. As the butler for Mr. and Mrs. Wayne his quarters were large and spacious with a sitting room, two bedrooms, and a large bathroom; she had occupied one of the bedrooms when she was a teenager.

The room she had now boasted an old-fashioned four poster bed and a small brick fireplace with a seating area and a view of the front lawns. She chuckled upon seeing the bathroom, which had clearly been redesigned in the 1950’s, tiled all in a pale pink. Julia didn’t have the heart to tell Alfred she despised pink.

After the funeral when Julia stood behind Alfred and Bruce, she was approached by an older African American man with greying hair and kind, dark eyes. He was sharply dressed and held an umbrella over her as the grey clouds began to spit rain.

“Julia Remarque,” he began cheerfully. “You are every bit as pretty as your pictures. I’m Lucius Fox.” 

She shook the hand he offered her and returned his smile. “Ah yes, I recall my father and the Wayne’s mentioning you, Mr. Fox. I believe you were a good friend of Mr. Wayne.”

“I hope I was,” Lucius replied, momentary sadness stole across his face. “I certainly tried to give Tom the best advice I could. He was a great man and this city is going to sorely miss him; whether the people know it or not.”

“Yes, Thomas Wayne was perhaps too good for Gotham.” She paused; feeling the sting of loss. “Poor Martha, she was more responsible for helping the homeless and keeping the food banks running than the damn city was. I sincerely hope someone will step up to the plate so all Martha’s hard work doesn’t go to waste.”

A broad smile lit up Lucius’ expression. “Young lady, you are a woman after my own heart. I understand from your father you have a degree in economics. The Wayne Charitable Foundation is in need of a financial officer, someone who could be trusted. Perhaps we could speak about the position while you are in town.”

Julia turned to find Alfred and Bruce several steps ahead of her. She wondered how influential her father was in order to finagle a job interview on her behalf… it hardly mattered because she was not staying in Gotham. She had a perfectly acceptable position at _Chez Cadeau_ waiting for her in London along with a lovely flat in Chelsea.

Smiling, she turned back to Lucius. “I would be happy to meet with you in an advisory manner to help you choose a proper candidate, but I’m headed back to London on Friday.”

Lucius Fox’s smile only grew. “I would be delighted to have your input. I’ll send a driver to pick you up at Wayne Manor tomorrow around two o’clock if convenient.”

Julia nodded. “I will be ready.”

\--*--

Alfred had denied all knowledge of Lucius Fox’s enigmatic employment offer.

She wasn’t sure if she entirely believed him, but it didn’t matter because Julia had no intention of living in Gotham. Come Friday, Julia Remarque was on a one way flight to London and back to her life. The morning was spent reading in the staff parlor before she decided to walk the grounds.

Wayne Manor had the most beautiful private gardens she had ever seen.

Bruce was in his father’s private study and refusing to come out. She saw him only briefly upon coming in from her walk. He was peering out the open door at her with a look of such sadness that Julia almost forgot she didn’t hug people or that she was rotten at trying to comfort them.

She smiled and he returned the gesture hesitantly before closing the study door.

Shaking her head, Julia returned to her room to shower and change in preparation for her meeting with Lucius Fox.

An hour later, Julia was seated across the table from Lucius Fox at the most exclusive restaurant in town. 

A bottle of good French champagne was in a silver ice bucket on the table and each of them was sipping the vintage between bouts of laughter and conversation. She had ordered la langue lyonnaise and Lucius le faisan madère.

He smiled and held his glass aloft in a toast. “You have the most beautiful accent, Julia. The men in Gotham would go crazy over you if given the chance.”

She chuckled and wagged her forefinger at him. “No thank you, Lucius. I’m returning to London and my job.”

“No beau?” Lucius asked with a slight grin.

Julia shrugged. “I hardly have the time to carry on. I work very long hours.”

“What a shame, a lovely young lady such as yourself spending her evening in the office pouring over the books.” He shook his head and the smile died away. “Life is too short not to fall in love. I don’t know one person on their deathbed who regretted not working more.”

A smile crossed her lips. “Touché, Lucius. Maybe one day I will meet the right man.”

“I have no doubt,” he replied. “I am hoping you might be able to give me some insight, not just into the proper person to hire, but also some accounting irregularities at The Wayne Charitable Foundation. My specialty is science and engineering at Wayne Enterprises, but Martha confided in me worries she had over finances at the foundation.”

Julia stiffened. “What kind of irregularities?” 

“Sums of money showing up in accounts used to invest funds, such as certificates of deposit, before being wired outside the foundation.” The older man’s expression became deathly serious. “I traced several of the outgoing wires to Zurich and the Cayman Islands.”

“Did you inform the police? This has the hallmarks of money laundering and that is a serious offense – a federal offense.” 

Lucius snorted before taking a delicate sip of the champagne. “My dear, this is Gotham. I need rock solid proof before I approach the police. I have my own problems at Wayne Enterprises; I suspect at least one member of the board is in league with Carmine Falcone. I could use your help.”

Everyone who had ever lived in Gotham knew the name Carmine Falcone and the dark rumors which surrounded the man. “Criss de calice de tabarnac d'osti de sacrament!” Julia swore viciously beneath her breath.

His dark brow rose. “I assume you are less than pleased, Miss Remarque.”

She frowned and remained quiet until the waiter finished placing their food in front of them. The minute he was gone, Julia leaned forward. “I need access to the foundation’s database and financial records – unfettered access. If you really want to know what is going on, I can find out. Can you give me access?”

“Oh yes,” Lucius breathed. “I believe that can be arranged.”

Julia had a disturbing feeling she wouldn’t be making her Friday flight.


	3. The Meeting

_“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.’ – John Steinbeck_

\--*--

The Wayne Charitable Foundation was located not in Wayne Tower, but in a smaller building across the street. The Lassiter Building was one of the finest examples of Art Deco architecture in all Gotham. Up on the thirty-first floor, Julia found herself sequestered in a small office with a view of the river and the polluted wastes beyond where busy factories once stood.

Julia found the sight depressing and closed the blinds.

Lucius Fox closed the door behind him and flashed his warm smile at her. “You are an intern here at the foundation. Mrs. Eloise Dumont is the interim head of the foundation until Martha can be replaced.”

“No one will be able to replace Martha,” Julia replied. “I have access to the database, yes?”

He nodded. “I programmed your security clearance myself. Since I am chairman of the foundation’s board, Eloise reports to me. She may not be pleased to have an intern assigned to deal with the foundation’s books so just try to get along with Eloise if she comes sniffing around.”

Julia smiled. “Am I working undercover?”

Lucius chuckled. “Until we figure out what’s going on, I’d keep your investigation under your hat. I’m sorry for the small workspace, but the larger offices are all taken.” 

“Hardly a problem,” she retorted with a smile. “I’m not staying.”

His eyes sparkled in response. “Ah yes, I keep forgetting.” He pointed at the computer on her desk. “Your password is your birthdate and you’ll need to change it immediately upon signing on. The records department is bringing you copies of the last three annual reports so you can get a feel for the foundation’s financial situation.”

Julia rounded the desk and sat. “Excellent, Lucius, I’ll get started right away and see what I can find.”

“I left my number on your desk. If you need anything, just give me a call.”

She nodded as he left. Once the door shut with a soft click behind him, Julia set to work. She logged on to the system and changed her password. Twenty minutes into learning to navigate the operating system of the foundation, a knock sounded on the door.

“Come in.”

Instead of a member of the record’s department as she expected, Alfred stood in the doorway. “I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time.”

Julia admired the figure he cut in his double-breasted suit and waistcoat. She had always wondered why Alfred never married – he was certainly a handsome enough man. Despite his often cool, aloof demeanor he was capable of great warmth.

“Certainly,” Julia stated. “Please have a seat.”

Alfred entered the room just far enough to be able to close the door behind him. He looked at the small space and bland walls and furnishings with a frown. “Blimey, they stuffed you in a hatbox.”

She smiled. “Welcome to corporate life at its finest, Alfred.”

He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “I was on my way to the GCPD and thought I might have a word with you.”

“Is something wrong?” Julia frowned and stood. “Why are you on the way to the GCPD?”

Alfred wore a deep frown that didn’t bode well; she had been the recipient of said look often as a teenager. “Last night Master Bruce burned himself. I thought perhaps if he had a chat with Detective Gordon the incident might not be repeated.”

“You are his guardian; have him speak with a psychologist.”

“Fat lot of good it did you.”

Julia reared back as the words smashed against her like an incoming tidal wave. When he first brought her back to Gotham, Alfred arranged for her to receive counseling. All the blithering idiot of a doctor wanted to discuss was her feelings about Alfred. To a teenage girl who just lost her mother and found herself in the custody of a man who had every millisecond of his life precisely engineered; the last thing she wanted to discuss was Alfred.

There were times Julia wished her mother never existed because if Marie Remarque didn't exist, neither did Julia's pain from her mother's loss. The thought was private and never discussed with the therapist Alfred hired nor with Alfred.

She managed a smile and returned to her chair. “Yes, but we are not all the same, Alfred. Although counseling didn’t suit me, Bruce may react differently. How can I help you?” The words were cool and clipped as she studied him from her seat.

He looked away from her briefly. “Master Bruce was rather hoping you might be convinced to stay on a bit longer.”

“No, I think not.” Julia’s smile died. “Bruce will find out just like I did that life doesn’t always give us what we want. I’m committed to help Mr. Fox with the Wayne Charitable Foundation’s problem. Once my work is complete, I’m returning to London. Good day, Alfred.”

Alfred was expressionless when he finally met her eyes. “Julia…”

“Good day, Alfred,” she repeated quietly.

He stared at her a moment longer before inclining his head toward her. Without another word, Alfred Pennyworth spun on his heel and left her office.

Julia squared her shoulders and held her head high until the door clicked shut behind him. Her lower lip trembled in a show of weakness that mortified Julia. Tears boiled in her eyes and she spun her chair toward the blinds; hand clapped over her mouth. For a brief moment, Julia’s shoulders shook as silent sobs rocked her.

\--*--

Forty minutes after Alfred’s visit the financial reports were delivered to Julia’s desk. She was merely red-eyed and pale instead of blotchy with swollen eyelids so the record’s clerk didn’t give her a second glance. By the time she decided to take a break Julia had slogged her way through one of the reports. There were no irregularities and so she made a few notes on items she expected to see in the next report before deciding she needed a break.

Listless and not terribly hungry, Julia visited the ladies room. She splashed water on her face and reapplied her lipstick before leaving the building. On a lark, Julia noticed a small café as she meandered along the street.

Coffee appealed to her so she made her way inside.

The delightful scent of cinnamon and espresso drifted through the air as she approached the barista.

A very tall, dark-haired man in an impeccable blue suit was paying for his coffee. He pocketed his wallet, grabbed the cardboard cup, and promptly backed into Julia.

The purse was knocked from her hands and she let out a squeal of pain as he stepped on her toes.

He backed away and spun in her direction. “I’m terribly sorry,” he stated; his large dark eyes were wide and his mouth a thin line. “Let me help you.”

Julia bent at the same time he did and they met face to face near the floor.

The stranger was a beat faster and scooped up her purse in his free hand. A friendly smile lit his features as he held the bag out to her. “That was inexcusably clumsy of me. Are you all right?”

Julia took her purse carefully so as not to come in contact with his skin. “I’m fine.”

He stayed crouched as she slowly rose to her full height. Those dark eyes studied her with startling precision before he gracefully stood. “You aren’t a native to our fair city.”

“No,” she agreed quietly.

He was as tall as Alfred, topping out around six feet, with a well-built body that insinuated he exercised regularly. Handsome with a boyish mien and engaging smile, he seemed to be very comfortable in his own skin. “French?”

“French Canadian,” she clarified.

His brow rose. “Que pensez-vous de Gotham?”

The question brought a smile to her face. “The city is interesting.”

The young man was only a few years older than she, perhaps thirty at the most. He grinned broadly and held out his hand. “Lovely and diplomatic,” he complimented. “Allow me to introduce myself. Harvey Dent. And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

Julia was stuck.

Refusing to answer him or walking away would prove terribly insulting and Monsieur Dent had done nothing to earn such shabby treatment. 

The truth was that Julia was a tad on the shy side. She had no problems relating to others when it came to work, but she had few friends. Getting to know people on a personal level had always proved difficult.

So she stood staring at the strong, manicured male hand in the air between their bodies.

“I don’t know how it works in Canada, but in Gotham you shake the other person’s hand.” The quip was delivered in soft good humor; his brown eyes gleaming down at her.

Julia nestled her hand in his. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dent.”

He chuckled. “You are a crafty little devil. I’ve never had someone so genially sidestep my every effort to obtain their name.”

She felt her face burn. “Julia Remarque.”

Harvey released her. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee, Miss Remarque. I feel it’s the least I can do since I scuffed your wonderful shoes.”

Julia looked down – sure enough there was a large scuff mark on the patent leather of her right shoe. She waved him off and shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Thank you for the offer, Mr. Dent.”

“I insist,” he stated firmly. “I really feel awful about stepping on you. I’m normally lighter on my feet.” Julia hesitated and he seized the moment. “You look like an espresso kind of girl. Am I right?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

Harvey turned to the barista. “One espresso please.” Pulling out his wallet again and taking out enough cash to pay for the espresso and provide a tip; he studied her. “Are you just visiting Gotham, Miss Remarque?”

“Yes,” Julia was reluctant to give him personal information. “I’m visiting my father for a few days.”

When the barista handed her the ceramic mug, he looked at his watch. “I wish I could stay and chat, but duty calls I’m afraid.”

She nodded and smiled as his dark eyes returned to her face. “Have a pleasant afternoon, Mr. Dent.”

“Au revoir, Mademoiselle Remarque,” Harvey returned with a wink. “Maybe we’ll meet again and next time I promise not to step on your foot.”

A laugh was drawn from her throat. “Peut-être.” _Perhaps._ The tease hung heavily in the air between them like a living thing.

Harvey Dent’s smile was broad and his eyes danced as he headed out of the café. Julia took her espresso to the long counter banking the windows. She watched his lean figure until it disappeared around the corner. He was a dashing man – just the sort she had always avoided. Dashing men were just that; running in and out of a girl’s life. Fate it seemed was favoring her in calling him back to work.

Julia sipped her espresso and wondered what sort of work he held. He wore a tailored suit; not as nice as what Alfred favored, but far from shabby. She suspected work in private business since he was far too high spirited to be in the financial sector.

Still, Julia thought, Monsieur Dent was very pleasant indeed.

She found herself smiling the rest of the day.

\--*--

Wayne Manor was still and quiet by the time she was dropped off. The moon was suspended high with a ribbon of clouds cutting her in two. Alfred kept late hours after the rest of the staff retired. Returning at nearly midnight didn’t pose an issue.

Julia rapped the heavy knocker against the front door before balancing the last financial binder against her chest. She had managed to work her way through both of the previous year’s reports. Nothing strange caught her eye so Julia was hopeful that the irregularities possibly started in the past year.

Deep in thought, Julia didn’t notice at first that the door was open.

“Are you going to come in or remain on the pavers daydreaming?” Alfred’s words dripped acidly.

She was momentarily startled. “I’m sorry, Alfred.” Julia stepped by him and into the grand foyer.

Alfred soon had the door locked. He studied her dispassionately. “There is a cold supper in the icebox if you desire – brie and sliced ham.”

“Thank you,” she replied in a lame, unsure fashion.

His deep blue eyes flickered to the huge binder nestled against her chest. “Are you staying in tomorrow?”

Julia shook her head. “No, this is a little light reading for the night.”

Alfred’s mouth thinned into a straight line that boded ill. “I’m proud you offered to help Mr. Fox, I am. That being said, I think you’ve gone barmy if you stay up all night reading that monstrosity and report to the office tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine,” she retorted. “I routinely work until the early hours in the morning at _Chez Cadeau_.”

Surprise flickered across his face before his dark eyebrows drew together in a startling show of concern. “Tell me, Julia, I’m curious – what do you do for fun in London?”

Julia tried to step around him, but Alfred was lightning fast and cut her off. She tried to laugh but the stark seriousness of his expression killed the sound in her chest. “I walk in the park once in a while.”

Alfred seized the report and left Julia staring at him in shock. “You’re a bloody workaholic just like your mother. I’m putting my foot down. You eat some supper and go to bed. I’ll give you this damn binder back in the morning.”

“I’m twenty-five years old,” Julia sputtered. “You can’t order me about like a child.”

He stared her down like she was an enemy combatant. “I don’t care if you’re sixty years old. My daughter is not going to work herself into an early grave. Part of responsible living is taking care of one’s self and you aren’t doing that. The moment I set eyes on you, I knew there was a problem. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror, Julia?”

She simply stared at him.

“You look exhausted – bloody huge black circles under your eyes. While you are here, you rest. If you want to return to London and work yourself into an early grave I can’t stop you, but I won’t tolerate that behavior here under my nose.”

“Is something wrong?”

Julia turned toward Thomas Wayne’s study.

Bruce was illuminated from behind by the golden light of a fire casting his face into shadow.

Alfred cleared his throat and turned to the boy. “No Master Bruce, nothing is amiss.”

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked. “I thought I heard arguing.”

Julia smiled. “No, we are fine. Alfred was just telling me about supper.”

Bruce padded through the foyer and stared up first at Alfred and then at Julia in turn. His eyes were filled with sincerity. “You shouldn’t argue.” He reached out and took her hand; his palm was clammy against her skin. “Come and sit with me, Julia. Alfred, bring her supper into the study please.”

Julia frowned as Alfred smiled broadly.

“I’d be delighted, Master Bruce.”

Julia allowed the boy to guide her into the study. He led her to a comfortable sofa and indicated she should sit. Deciding to humor him, Julia sank down. Bruce edged past her and sat on the far end of the sofa.

“You look tired,” Bruce stated.

She smirked. “Yes, I have heard that recently elsewhere.”

“Alfred loves you.” Bruce was quiet a moment. “He’s just not good at saying it. Instead he henpecks and orders you around.”

Julia nodded.

“Why won’t you stay in Gotham?” Bruce asked with seeming trepidation.

“Gotham is not my home,” she replied.

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together in a clear show of confusion. “But your father is here. Don’t you want to be close to Alfred?”

Julia stared at the flames hissing and spitting on the hearth. “Bruce, things are much more complicated than you realize.”

“I think you should stay in Gotham.”

“I second your opinion, Master Bruce.” Alfred entered the room with a small tray which he lowered to Julia’s lap. 

She looked over to find Bruce watching her intently. “Please,” he entreated.

Alfred came to stand behind his young charge and grinned at Julia’s stricken expression.

“I’ll think about it,” she murmured.

Bruce smiled and Alfred’s grin only grew larger.


	4. Digging In

_‘Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.’ – Rumi_

\--*--

The answer was staring Julia right in the face as she trailed a finger down the three hundred and twenty-eighth page of the current year’s financial report for the Wayne Charitable Foundation. She squinted and re-read the information to be certain she hadn’t lost her mind. 

A yawn escaped her throat and she gulped more tea in response.

Following Alfred’s serious dressing down, Julia had given up any hope of retrieving the report. She went to bed after her late supper. To her surprise, she felt strangely refreshed upon waking. Despite missing breakfast, which was served exactly at eight o’clock, Alfred had taken pity on her.

Julia found a small tray outside her room with a piping hot cup of coffee, a ruby red apple, and a blueberry scone smeared with butter. The Gotham Gazette was folded up and placed alongside the plate for her to peruse. She lolled about in bed reading and eating like a proper slacker. Taking her time to shower and dress seemed like a long forgotten luxury.

Alfred gave her the report after she returned from a walk in the gardens with Bruce.

She and the boy were silent as they strolled; returning rosy-cheeked from the cool morning air.

Julia noticed the name once more and set down her tea cup on the matching saucer. Kettleton Consulting. The elite Gotham firm took over as the outside consulting firm which made sure the Wayne Charitable Foundation was following all regulations and financial laws. One of the board members from Kettleton caught Julia’s eye: Gregory Dumont, husband of the foundation’s current operating officer, Eloise Dumont.

The information seemed more than a mere coincidence. No strange accounting issues started until Kettleton began overseeing the foundation’s regulatory compliance.

Julia closed the report and left the staff parlor in search of her father.

Fifteen minutes later she found him lecturing a maid in the upstairs corridor about changing the sheets weekly in Thomas and Martha’s old room – he insisted the bedchamber be kept spotless even if the couple would never return to sleep there.

She dared not interrupt and waited quietly until Alfred excused the errant maid.

He turned wearing a frown and his eyes grew large upon taking her in. “Julia, I didn’t realize you were there.” His impassive expression quickly returned. “Do you need my assistance?”

Julia clasped her hands together nervously. “Perhaps so, Alfred.”

“What is it?”

“Is the name Gregory Dumont familiar to you?” She asked hopefully.

Alfred’s eyebrows drew together as he stared down at her. “Mr. Dumont is the husband of Eloise Dumont. Mrs. Dumont was a friend of Mrs. Wayne and she also donates her time at the Wayne Charitable Foundation.”

Julia nodded and drew closer to him. “Yes, but how well do you know Mr. and Mrs. Dumont?”

“Not well at all,” Alfred admitted. “The Wayne’s entertained the Dumont’s here every few months and went to dinner with them on a regular basis. They all seemed to enjoy one another’s company.”

“I have found an irregularity regarding the Dumont’s and their association with the foundation.”

A frown cut across his already unforgiving features. “Tell me.”

Julia spoke in soft, hushed tones as Alfred accompanied her back to the staff parlor. He was an intelligent man and quickly understood her point. The look on his face was thunderous as Alfred shut the door behind them.

“Are you saying them bastards have been using the foundation to launder money?”

She nodded. “I believe so, but I still have more proof to gather before the Dumont’s can be accused. At the very least, Kettleton is guilty, but Mr. Dumont owning a share of that firm and the start of the wire transfers casts suspicion on him as well.”

Alfred released a sigh and shook his head. “It just goes to prove you can’t always tell a rotten apple when it’s polished up all nicely. Have you told Mr. Fox?”

“No,” Julia replied. “I wanted your thoughts before I did so.”

He stared her straight in the eye. “I believe you ought to contact him right away. Julia, I think it would be best if Master Bruce was kept in the dark about this situation until we know for sure what is going on. He has more pressure on him than any young boy his age ought to.”

“He won’t hear about the foundation from me,” Julia stated. “You will need to tell him should the authorities become involved.”

Alfred nodded. “Of course.” He watched her gather up the huge, hard-cover report. “I take it you are reporting to the office?”

Julia hesitated at the door. “I think it is best. Half the day has been wasted lolling about. I need to speak to Mr. Fox immediately.”

“Shall I expect you home at a decent hour for supper?”

She nodded distractedly. “I should be home around six unless something dire happens.” Before Alfred could make a reply, her cell phone began to ring. Julia checked the number and sighed. “Oh dear, it is my boss from _Chez Cadeau_. I really must take this, Alfred. Please excuse me.”

He raised one eyebrow and opened the parlor door; watching with disbelief as she promptly tucked the phone between her chin and shoulder. Julia wobbled as she hefted the heavy tome of the report against her hip and headed for the stairs.

“Rebecca!” Julia’s voice rang out all false sunshine while a large fake smile plastered itself over her mouth. “Simply lovely to hear from you! I’m supposed to be flying back the day after tomorrow.” She paused before starting the long climb toward the servant’s wing. “The receipts for the silk have all been accounted for and sent for processing. No, darling, I finished the end of quarter report and emailed it to you last Wednesday…”

Alfred stared after his daughter and half-wondered if she might tumble back down the stairs arse over teakettle. He was glowering; he knew he was, as he continued staring long after Julia’s trim figure disappeared around a bend in the staircase. Alfred could feel the worry twisting and churning in his gut like a living, breathing thing.

She drove herself hard – almost as hard as Marie had. The thought made him ill.

Marie was not a subject he enjoyed dwelling upon so he shut it away in the great dark pit at the back of his mind to which all displeasing subjects were relegated.

“Alfred?” Bruce’s soft voice broke through his reverie.

He cleared his throat and managed a smile for the boy at his hip. “Master Bruce, what can I do for you?”

Bruce Wayne’s eyes were thoughtful and his mouth soft for the first time since his parent’s death. “Will you and Julia have dinner with me tonight?”

Normally Alfred took his supper in the large gourmet kitchen the manor boasted; seated at the enormous island alone reading, or upon occasion when the fancy took him, watching a football match. Dining with Mr. and Mrs. Wayne and their only child wasn’t proper as he was staff – close to the family or not.

Now Alfred wasn’t so sure propriety applied considering the circumstances.

“Julia should be home in time,” he replied quietly. “I will lay out supper in the dining room, Master Bruce.”

Nodding, Bruce slipped his hands in his pockets as he turned and re-entered his father’s study.

Alfred hoped Julia kept her word and returned at a normal hour.

\--*--

Eloise Dumont was waiting in Julia’s office when she arrived at the Wayne Charitable Foundation. A tall, handsome brunette with fashionable highlights and a face that spoke of her love for Botox, Mrs. Dumont wore an elegant violet chiffon dress from _Chez Cadeau_. The thick rope of diamonds around her neck and dangling from her earlobes and the flash of radiance from the rings decorating her perfectly manicured fingers all marked her as a woman of privilege.

Julia had dealt with many Eloise Dumont’s in the past. She was seasoned as to what to expect.

Fixing a welcoming smile on her face, Julia skirted around the desk and set the financial report precisely beside the blotter. Standing with her hands clasped before her, Julia was a picture of ease. “Hello, I’m Julia Remarque. How might I be of help?”

Mrs. Dumont elegantly crossed one obscenely long leg over the other as her dark eyes studied Julia with care. “Mr. Fox informed me you are a temporary intern here to help us find a replacement financial officer.” She cleared her throat; her red lips pressed into a thin, unpleasant line. “I don’t know what Mr. Fox told you, but here at the Wayne Charitable Foundation we pride ourselves on being punctual. Showing up at almost noon is not a good first impression. Do you understand?”

Julia wiped the smile off her face and nodded. “Yes ma’am, I understand perfectly.”

She pointed a long blood-red nail at Julia before dragging it leisurely through the air up and down. “You have perfectly abysmal taste in clothes. Vintage, sweetheart, is only acceptable is the label is Chanel or Givenchy or Valentino.” Mrs. Dumont pursed her lips in a perfect example of horror and let her hand fall against her chest. “Are you wearing off the rack?”

Without waiting for Eloise Dumont’s express permission, Julia sat in her chair. “Not everyone is as blessed as you, Mrs. Dumont. Mrs. Wayne understood that as long as a person was neatly attired to the best of their financial ability that was good enough. Perhaps you ought to take a page from her, how do you Americans say? Playbook, I believe.”

The look in Mrs. Dumont’s eyes as they narrowed was one of murder. Her forefinger flicked and her lips parted as a gasp escaped her throat. She sat up straighter, showcasing her height, and stared Julia dead in the eye. “How dare you lecture me, you little rube! I should fire you immediately for your cheek!”

“It sounds like I showed up here just in time,” a familiar, warm male voice broke in. “Now, Mrs. Dumont, we spoke at length about Miss Remarque and she is working directly for me at the time being.”

Relief filtered through Julia as Lucius Fox stepped into the room.

He smiled pleasantly at both women. “Why would you want to fire such a charming young woman, Eloise?”

“Miss Remarque was lecturing me of all people about Martha.” Eloise stood and crossed her arms over her generous bosom protectively.

“You probably aren’t aware that Miss Remarque was also a dear friend of Martha’s.”

Julia remained quiet and watched the blood drain from Eloise Dumont’s face.

“Really?”

Lucius simply nodded.

Mrs. Dumont’s jaw worked helplessly as though trying to churn out a denial. Finally, she shot a poisonous look in Julia’s direction before turning to face Lucius; a patently false, overly sweet smile on her face. “You may want to discuss the merits of punctuality with your employee, Mr. Fox.”

Lucius’ brow rose as Mrs. Dumont stormed past him slamming the office door behind her. “I see you’ve been busy making friends and spreading your influence.” He chuckled. “By the end of the day, no one here at the foundation of any social standing will be on speaking terms with you.”

Julia shrugged as a small grin crept across her mouth.

He laughed and sat across from her. “I had a feeling you could care less. Did you have any luck?”

“Yes, look at page three hundred twenty-eight of this year’s financial report. Kettleton Consulting has taken over as the outside auditors for the foundation and after they came on board the money laundering started. One of the board members for Kettleton is Gregory Dumont. I do not believe in coincidences, do you?”

Lucius frowned and picked up the financial report. “No, I do not, Miss Remarque. I see I’ll be spending the afternoon with a little light reading. Let me know once you’ve found anything concrete and we’ll decide how to proceed.”

Julia nodded and smiled at the older man as he left.

\--*--

The car dropped Julia off at six o’clock on the dot. She was exhausted from a day spent hunting and pecking for the slightest bit of information that might trace back to Kettleton or either Dumont. So far the evidence was sketchy – although Julia had a running list of foundation employees she would be interviewing about the outgoing wires. The mere thought of meeting with the foundation’s private banking representative at Gotham United Bank made her slightly ill.

Alfred wore a slight smile as he opened the door. “Right on time for supper, Julia.”

She pulled off her jacket and allowed him to take it along with her purse. 

“We are eating in the formal dining room with Master Bruce this evening.”

Julia’s expression reflected her surprise, but she merely made her way to the dining room. She hadn’t set foot in this room in years. Grand, old-world style with sumptuous furnishings and a high ceiling with a huge chandelier dead center and gorgeous art; she always felt the room belonged in a museum.

The long table was set as simply as possible with three places at the far head.

Bruce was not seated but standing at the French doors that led out to the stone terrace and the manicured lawns beyond. He stood erect with his hands held behind his back. His dark hair was brushed back from his face and he wore a button down sweater over his dress shirt and tie. He looked for all the world like a miniature man.

Julia approached him quietly. 

“Hello Julia,” Bruce greeted her in a soft voice without turning. “Did you have a good day at the office?”

She draped an arm over his shoulders and pulled the boy against her side. “Oh, it was busy, but I expected nothing less. How was your day, Bruce?”

The boy shrugged. 

Julia ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You must have done something worthwhile over the course of the day. Tell me.”

Bruce became ramrod stiff and slowly turned his head in her direction. “M-my mother… she used to touch my hair like you are.”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, snatching her hand back.

The boy’s blue eyes were solemn as he gazed up at her. “I really didn’t mind.”

Julia hugged him impulsively and kissed the top of his head for judge measure. Bruce returned the embrace with surprising strength and the pair simply stood holding one another and looking out the windows for some time.

She forgot all about the fact that she didn’t hug other people or that she sucked at trying to provide comfort to those in pain. 

Bruce and Julia were still in the same position when Alfred entered with the dining cart several minutes later.

She felt her face redden when Alfred stopped in his tracks and simply stared a moment. The older man finally cleared his throat to catch Bruce’s attention. “Master Bruce, dinner is served.”

Bruce pulled away from Julia with a small smile for her benefit before sitting. “What are we having for dinner, Alfred?”

“Steak medallions in herbed beef gravy and baked potato with a cauliflower and red pepper side.”

Julia noticed Bruce avoided the seat at the head of the table. She sat next to him leaving Alfred the lone chair across the table. Her father worked briskly and soon the three of them were tucked into their supper.

Bruce was quiet and picked a fair bit at the cauliflower.

Julia noticed. “Are you not a fan of cauliflower?”

He pulled a long face. “No, not really, but everyone seems to believe I should still eat the stuff.”

“I love cauliflower,” she replied. “But I dislike brussel sprouts – terrible things and butter makes them even worse. Alfred made me eat them all the time.”

Alfred continued eating quietly and with the utmost decorum.

“He did?” Bruce asked with surprise.

“Oh yes,” Julia returned with a sly grin. “I used to think Alfred was evil incarnate when the brussel sprouts appeared.”

Alfred set down his knife and fork and picked up his glass of milk. “You only ate that vegetable three times a week, you little imp. I never understood all the fuss.”

Bruce smirked. “What do you hate eating, Alfred?”

“I…” 

Julia sat back in her chair with an expression of satisfaction. “Please do tell.”

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

Bruce seemed amused. “Oh come on, Alfred. What harm will it do to tell us?”

Julia was clearly on the verge of laughter when Alfred looked at her.

He released a sigh. “Fine, I suppose no harm will come from anyone knowing that I abhor limes. Bloody foul things they are. Sour and ghastly.”

“No margaritas for you,” Julia teased.

Alfred took on a prim look. “No indeed not.”

\--*--

The next day Alfred discovered a lime outside the door to his quarters sitting as pretty as you please looking up at him. He chuckled and thought Master Bruce was having a bit of a laugh at his expense. In the kitchen there were three bowls of the green buggers arranged quite beautifully around the room.

He raised an eyebrow and looked to the cook. “Mrs. McAllister, where in blazes did all these limes come from?”

The older woman heaved a sigh. “They were delivered at first light from a gourmet food company in the city. This isn’t even the half of it, Mr. Pennyworth. Open the refrigerator and feast your eyes on the bounty within.”

Alfred did just that and stared in horror at a lime-centric theme jamming the shelves: key lime pies, jars of lime curd, lime jellies, lime gelatin salads formed in fancy shapes, bottles of twinkling green lime flavored drinks, and lime margarita mixes.

“Oh dear,” Alfred murmured.

Mrs. McAllister loosed an unladylike snort from beside him. “That doesn’t even count the lime truffles and hard candy I packed away in the pantry. Who on earth would send us a bumper crop of everything lime?”

Alfred closed the refrigerator door and felt a small smile coming over his face. His daughter was the culprit – the same serious young woman who rarely smiled or laughed in his presence. The perpetually serious creature he thought incapable of even understanding a good time; never mind pulling an honest to goodness prank.

“Julia did this,” he announced.

The elderly woman at his side looked shocked. “Julia? She’s the most sober person I know.”

Alfred nodded and let a smile bleed across his face. “Undoubtedly so which makes what she’s done all the more remarkable.”

“Got you good, she did,” Mrs. McAllister pronounced with a smirk. “I remember your reaction when Mrs. Wayne served you a piece of lime taffy.”

He felt a sense of lightness around him. The day seemed less grey though the clouds were no less thick and Alfred felt his spirit soar. He had never realized his daughter had a sense of humor that skirted the edge of mischievous. Alfred decided he rather liked the playful streak Julia had revealed.

“Indeed she did,” Alfred remarked blandly. “We will put this bounty to good use. Waste not, want not Mrs. McAllister.” And with that, he left the still smirking cook to her domain as he began his daily duties.


	5. Coming Closer

_There is a sacredness in tears. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love. – Washington Irving_

\--*--

The morning was filled with cross-referencing reports, wire transfer records, and foundation accounts. 

Julia leaned back and laid her hands over her eyes. She felt like her eyeballs were ready to fall out of her head and roll away. Developing a headache, Julia decided lunch had arrived and it was an opportune time to take some time away from the computer.

Contacting Lucius and asking him to lunch crossed Julia’s mind, but she decided against the move.

Time alone was just what the doctor ordered and she felt the desire for coffee and croissant coming upon her. Drawing a deep breath, Julia grabbed her purse. She tugged on her coat and headed straight for the elevators. 

True to Lucius Fox’s word, no one at the foundation seemed to want to speak to her.

Even the other interns, the lowest of the low on the office pecking order, remained tight-lipped in her presence. Julia wondered what Martha would think if she was faced with people behaving so badly at the foundation named for her and set up to spread good will and help the underprivileged.

Martha Wayne would have been absolutely mortified.

Julia drew in a deep breath of air and immediately began coughing. It was a sad day when the inside air was cleaner than ‘fresh’ outside air. Tainted with exhaust fumes laced with an underlying hint of rotting trash, the air of Gotham City was anything but fresh. Even London, with the pollution there, seemed crisp and clean by comparison and Montreal was pristine against both cities.

She still enjoyed the feeling of being outside in the crisp fall air.

Part of her was sorry there were so few trees planted along the city sidewalks; she missed the golden, burnt orange, and deep scarlet of the changing leaves. Julia could just see a few leaves at the manor beginning to change over.

Autumn was Julia’s favorite season – a time of bounty when one looked back over the course of the year and took stock of the blessings one had received. 

Soon, Julia found the small café from the previous day and entered. She swiftly ordered a café au lait and a croissant before taking a seat at the long counter running the length of the café windows. An avid people watcher, she indulged shamelessly in one of her favorite pastimes. All too soon only a few crumbs remained of her croissant and just a ring decorated the bottom of her ceramic coffee mug.

Deciding to indulge in a little window shopping, Julia left the café.

She was studying a Hermes handbag in the window of a luxury boutique when a man’s voice, slightly familiar and richly warm, poured across her ear like liquid caramel.

“I see you are a woman of style, Miss Remarque.”

Julia jumped and almost fell on her rear.

The man towering over her was smiling broadly; his dark eyes twinkling with mirth. Today Harvey Dent was arrayed in a deep grey suit and tan overcoat; both exquisitely tailored though not expensive items, with a sapphire blue tie of raw silk. He knew how to dress to impress.

She released a nervous laugh. “Mr. Dent, I did not expect to see you again.”

A chuckle escaped his throat. “I can tell, Miss Remarque. Nothing says surprise like a young woman jumping out of her skin.” He sobered a little though his smile was still sincere. “Please accept my apologies for startling you.”

Julia shrugged and regained some of her composure. “No need to apologize. I should pay more attention to my surroundings.”

Dent was facing her; his head tilted as he studied her. “I was just on my way to lunch. Could I convince you to join me?” He smelled of rainwater and musk with hints of citrus – a deep, pleasant scent.

She checked her watch and she still had thirty minutes to burn. “Yes, I would like the companionship. I have already eaten.”

“A glass of wine might be just the ticket,” he held out his arm. “I know a very charming little bistro around the corner.”

Julia hesitated for only a moment before slipping her arm into the crook of his elbow. “Perhaps a nice glass of seltzer water instead. I must be very sober this afternoon.”

Dent smiled broadly at her. “Of course, Miss Remarque, I understand completely.”

\--*--

Surrillo’s served a particularly fine brand of Italian soda so Julia ordered a glass of apricot-ginger; sweet with just a hint of spicy zing to skate along the senses. Harvey Dent was fawned over by the hostess and shown to a good booth in a private corner of the establishment. To her surprise, he ordered a slice of goat cheese, fig, and caramelized onion flatbread along with a glass of hearty red wine. She had expected him to order steak and potatoes.

Stilted small talk dominated as he asked her opinion on the menu and what she thought of the available beverage selection. Quiet, concise words more suited to the prevention of silence than conducive to a true conversation.

Julia wondered as he turned toward her with his sparkling brown eyes if she hadn’t made a momentous error in judgment. While Harvey Dent was certainly charming and undoubtedly filled with mirth – she didn’t know him from Job. 

“How long are you staying in Gotham?”

Her eyes darted to him. “Not long, I’m afraid. I have a little work to wrap up and I’m headed back to London tomorrow evening.”

Harvey seemed nonplussed by her words; his strong fingers curled around the delicate glass of his stemware. She wondered briefly what it would be like to have his hand over her own. His voice broke her self-indulgent thoughts. “What type of work are you involved in?”

“I’m a financial officer for Chez Cadeau,” Julia allowed with hesitation. “The work is rather boring. I’m here to see my father, but a situation arose.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Really? You seem like an interesting, very intelligent young woman. Perhaps a change in career is needed if you find the work dull.”

Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. “I enjoy my job, Mr. Dent. I meant you would consider the work boring. Most people do.”

“Call me Harvey,” he instructed after taking another sip of wine. “We aren’t complete strangers any longer. As for your work, I admit finance is not my cup of tea.”

Julia sipped her soda. “I can understand your point of view. What is your profession, Mr. Dent?”

He smiled broadly; his dark eyes dancing. “Harvey,” he corrected lightly. “I’m an Assistant District Attorney at the Gotham City Prosecutor’s office.”

“Mon Dieu!”

A laugh escaped his throat. “What a very polite response of surprise.” Harvey leaned forward. “I take it I don’t look like the prosecutorial type.”

Julia blushed; the heat prickling in her cheeks uncomfortably. “No, I thought perhaps you were a businessman. You seem too happy to be involved in the justice system.”

His eyes softened and he leaned back against the padded booth. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Julia.”

The sound of his voice was smooth and warm as he uttered her name. She deliberately looked at her watch and was startled to see she was three minutes late returning to work. Julia stood and began fishing in her purse.

“Are you running late?”

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Dent.”

He smiled broadly. “Please, call me Harvey. Don’t worry about the soda, Julia. I’m happy to treat you.”

Julia nodded and closed her purse. “Thank you… Harvey.”

Harvey Dent inclined his head ever so slightly in her direction. “You’re welcome. Perhaps we’ll run into each other before you leave for London.”

“Je ne sais pas.” _I don’t know._

He smiled. “Good luck to you, Julia.”

Walking away and returning to the office was the hardest thing she had done in years. Part of Julia longed to stay and get to know the enigmatic man who had sat across from her. Another part, the voice of logic, told her that attraction to a man she would never see again after returning to London was beyond silly.

Julia was not a daft woman.

\--*--

“You seem to have very liberal ideas in regards to your lunch hour, Miss Remarque.”

None other than Eloise Dumont was standing just inside her office wearing a lovely rose silk frock with her glossy painted lips curved into a disgusted frown. “I must remind you we are not in Europe and the leisure of your culture is not welcome or acceptable here. You are in the United States and here we take work _very seriously_. Do you understand?”

Julia rounded the desk. “Yes, I do, Mrs. Dumont. I apologize for returning to the office late.”

“Do you have any candidates for Chief Financial Officer?”

She had looked over several resumes for Mr. Fox and found only one serious candidate in the bunch – an older gentleman from Chicago with many years of banking experience who was currently serving as a Chief Financial Officer for a small Illinois company.

“One,” Julia answered as she sat. “He has a great deal of experience and I’m going to speak with Mr. Fox later this afternoon.”

Sharp eyes like razor blades watched her. “Can you answer a question for me?”

“Certainly.”

“What does finding a new CFO have to do with wire transactions for the past year?”

Julia leaned back in her chair; her gut clenched in fear. She hadn’t even begun interviewing those who sent the wires.

The woman across from her only smiled more broadly as she stood. “I’m not a fool, Miss Remarque. I have eyes everywhere.” Eloise Dumont walked to the door. “I know what you’re up to and Mr. Fox isn’t always going to be in a position of power at Wayne Enterprises. A thought worthy of consideration before you flush your life down the toilet.”

Julia released a sigh as Mrs. Dumont left her office; slamming the door behind her. Wiping a hand over her face, she shook her head. Quickly, she picked up her phone and dialed Lucius Fox.

“Hello?” Lucius’ voice was as friendly and warm as ever.

“We need to meet,” Julia began without preamble. “I prefer we do so outside of this building and Wayne Enterprises.”

He was silent a moment. “I have ample time this evening.”

“Please come to Wayne Manor. I will ask Alfred to prepare a light dinner for us.”

“I’ll be there at seven.”

“Thank you,” Julia replied with relief.

Immediately after hanging up the phone, she stood and marched out the door headed for the accounting department. Heads turned and hushed whispers followed her as Julia made her way past desks and cubicles that crowded the floor.

Julia hit the elevator down button.

Within five minutes, she stood in the office of a nervous looking man named Stanley Vincent whose skin turned a dull grey hue upon seeing her. She simply strolled into his office and shut the door behind her. He was a slight creature who would be blown away by a stiff wind. Balding, his pate was shiny with sweat.

“May I help you?” His voice was shaky.

Julia smiled. “Do you know who I am?”

Vincent gulped audibly. “I understand from Mrs. Dumont you are Mr. Fox’s new intern.”

“Yes,” she allowed. “In my study of the foundation’s assets several inaccuracies and questionable wire transfers have come to light. Tomorrow morning, I want you to provide me with transcripts and records of who originated the wire transfers sent to Switzerland and the Cayman Islands. The information is missing.”

“I have to check with Mrs. Dumont…”

“Do you understand that money laundering is illegal?” Julia tipped back her chin and studied the man closely. “People involved can be arrested and prosecuted by the federal government, Mr. Vincent. The F.B.I. and other federal agencies would be in charge of the investigation and I can assure you that they take such matters very seriously. Unlike local authorities, the federal authorities are not susceptible to the same level of corruption. I imagine a few years in a federal penitentiary would prove very unpleasant.”

Stanley Vincent looked ill. “But Mrs. Dumont said…”

“Mrs. Dumont is a legend in her own mind,” Julia responded quietly. “If she believes herself the equal to the United States government, I welcome her to try and flout their authority. I hope you are smarter, Mr. Vincent.”

He merely stared as she opened the door and headed back to her office.

\--*--

Alfred had been only too happy to have a light supper served in the servant’s parlor for Julia and Lucius. 

Bruce wasn’t feeling well and turned in early to his bedroom for once. Snug and tucked away far from matters that might disquiet his mind.

Lucius shook Alfred’s hand as they entered the parlor. “Alfred, I’m delighted to see you again.”

“Mr. Fox,” Alfred responded in a low, warm voice. “I understand there are problems at the foundation. I’m heartily sorry to hear it. Mrs. Wayne would be devastated by the news.”

Smiling gently, Lucius seated himself across from at the small table near the windows. “I agree, Alfred. We need to rout out the source of the taint. Please have a seat – as Bruce’s guardian I think you should be aware of what is happening.”

Alfred glanced in Julia’s direction.

She nodded and Alfred closed the parlor door before taking a seat next to Lucius. Julia wondered when she would receive her comeuppance for her trick with the limes; Alfred hadn’t mentioned the practical joke even once.

“I informed Stanley Vincent this afternoon that I expected all information on all outgoing wires to the Cayman Islands and Switzerland in a written format on my desk in the morning.”

Lucius looked surprised. “I see subtlety is not your forte, Julia.”

“Mrs. Dumont was in my office making threats when I returned from lunch.” Julia sighed. “She knows what is really going on, Lucius. In fact, she informed me that you will not have your position for long.”

“Who the hell does this bird think she is?” Alfred muttered.

Lucius shook his head. “The Dumont’s hold a great deal of power in this city, Alfred, and beyond in all truth. There are several board members of Wayne Enterprises deeply involved with the pair never mind Mayor James.”

Julia sipped her drink. “I believe the best course of action is to move quickly.”

“Are you going to involve the police?”

She looked closely at her father. “No Alfred, I don’t believe that would be wise. The F.B.I. would become involved after I file a complaint with FinCen, a division of the US Treasury. The federal government takes money laundering very seriously and will move quickly.”

“The foundation’s name will be smeared,” Alfred pointed out.

Lucius gave them both a gentle smile. “No, I don’t believe so. The foundation is taking all the appropriate steps in order to deal with the problem. Cut out the cancer and the healing can begin.”

“I am concerned that Mr. and Mrs. Dumont might take steps to conceal their involvement.” Julia’s words rang hollowly through the room.

Alfred was quiet; his deep blue eyes speared her through.

“I agree,” Lucius stated quietly. “We have problems on the horizon. I hope you realize, Julia, that this is a long fight. Corruption at the foundation won’t just evaporate once the F.B.I. arrives on the scene.”

Julia sighed. “I’m still leaving tomorrow night.”

A small smile spread over Lucius’ face. “I can’t change your mind?”

She shook her head.

Alfred rose from his chair like a wraith. “I’ll fetch some supper. I’m sure you both are hungry.”

\--*--

Lucius Fox was long gone when Alfred found Julia pacing the terrace under the moonlight.

Arms folded over her chest, she was gleaming argent like an ethereal figure of some sort. The look on her face concerned him as much as the jerky movement of her body. It was late and she was exhausted; he remembered the manner Julia always held herself when she was tired.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of in leaving,” he kept his voice gentle. “I wish for Master Bruce’s sake that you were staying on, but I understand your reasons for returning to London.”

Julia drew to a stop facing him. The look on her face was one of deep sadness that shook him to his very core. “Why do I feel so guilty?”

Alfred clasped his hands behind his back. “Because you care.”

“I have a career.”

He nodded. “Yes, you are a glorified accountant for a woman who is apparently a twit that can’t be bothered to read the emails you send her – a woman I suspect takes the credit for your work.”

Julia stared at him. “That isn’t fair.”

“Probably not,” Alfred allowed. “But it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

She blinked heavily. “Yes.”

For the first time, Alfred witnessed an event that had never occurred before in the ten years he had known his daughter. To his utter amazement – fat tears rolled down her cheeks. The drops like liquid crystal; catching at the corner of her mouth and falling from her jaw to moisten her blouse.

He had no idea what to do. Julia had always proved to be on the cold side; unwilling to accept any physical displays of affection from him. Alfred had tried and failed repeatedly when she was younger to put an arm around her only to have her shrug him off like he was some bloody pervert.

_‘God Mrs. Wayne, if only you were here now.’_ The thought echoed in his mind.

Martha Wayne would have known what to do.

Alfred felt like an utter ninny watching his daughter cry silently in the cold autumn night air.

“I’m sorry.” Her words jolted him.

He frowned. “What for?”

“The limes,” Julia threw her hands in the air. “For sending those stupid limes!”

Alfred had to hold back the laughter threatening to break free from his chest. He hadn’t broached the subject with her because of the seriousness of the situation with the Wayne Charitable Foundation. He shook his head. “No worries, love. You sent limes and lime products – no one was hurt.”

“It was a juvenile, asinine thing to do!” She retorted hotly. “You hate limes and I pranked you.”

He stepped closer to her; unsure whether to touch her or not. “Julia, to tell you the truth… I loved seeing those limes.”

Julia stared at him as though he’d gone mad. “You did?”

Alfred gave her a solemn nod. “Yes because those limes were the type of prank a girl might pull on her father if she felt close to him.” He hesitated before reaching out and brushing away the tears from Julia’s cheeks. “It was the first time I felt like you truly thought of me as your father.”

She took a deliberate step back leaving his hand lingering in the air between them. “I’ve always thought of you as my father.” Julia hurried around him toward the doors leading inside. 

He turned and watched her go. “Julia?”

She stopped before the doors; the white gossamer fabric billowing out around her. “Yes Alfred?”

“Don’t be afraid to call. Master Bruce and I care about you.”

“I know.” And with that short statement, Julia plunged inside leaving Alfred standing alone.

He wiped a hand over his mouth and shook his head. “You should have bloody told me about her, Marie!” The words were harsh and echoed back at him a hundredfold and a high, sweet sound seemed to tinkle just above his own voice.

A feminine laugh belonging to the only woman he had ever truly loved – the woman who had emotionally eviscerated him twenty-five years earlier.

Alfred wondered for a moment if he was going mad and quickly dismissed the thought. Marie had a cruel streak and if she was able to laugh at him from beyond the grave; she would have. Only the breeze rustling in the trees remained as he marched back into the manor to begin locking up.


End file.
